Hate

Cloten
I love and hate her; for she’s fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman, from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all. I love her therefore, but
Disdaining me and throwing favors on
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
That what’s else rare is chok’d;
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Lady Capulet
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child,
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy
That thou expects not, nor I looked not for.
Juliet
Madam, in happy time! What day is that?

I would the fool were married to her grave.
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Where be these enemies?—Capulet, Montague,
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love,Paradox
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punished.

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love

Capulet
O brother Montague,
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